Sick Days and Rocket Boots
by FrankandJoe3
Summary: Not wanting to leave Dick home alone, Bruce brings his ward to work.
1. Chapter 1

Dick carefully dabbed at the still bleeding cut across his forehead, hissing at even the faintest contact the wet tissue and the wound made. He was leaning over the bathroom sink, perched on his elbows and barely a pinky's width from the mirror's glass that fogged under his shallow breath. Even with his attention completely on cleaning up the aftermath of yesterday's mission, he managed to catch sight of his guardian in the mirror's reflection.

"And you're sure you can't go to school?" Bruce inwardly sighed as he paused in the doorway, hands idly toying with the scarlet tie around his neck.

His ward chuckled softly and straightened, pulling the salmon colored tissue back from his face with a taunting sort of smile. The tissue was quickly balled up and tossed into the trashcan, a steady hand combing the lengthy black bangs up off of his forehead while it dried.

"Half the nation saw Robin get this exact cut. Doesn't exactly help that I look just like the kid. I'll go back Monday and pick up all the work I missed, I promise," he shook his head with a glint in his eyes, "You're the one who taught me to be careful about this kind of thing in the first place."

Bruce cracked a thin smile and set his tie down to his chest, folding his arms over his chest with a small shake of his head.

"I shouldn't be complaining. You've been a great student so far," he plucked another tissue from the box off the counter and folded it.

The man touched it to the thin drip of blood that seeped from the two inch gash, trying to mute his worry with a classic face of stone. The affection in the simple touch chipped it away in seconds though.

"I guess you'll just have to come with me to work today," he pressed just a bit harder before pulling the tissue away entirely and frowning at the blood that speckled the white material.

As he walked past to get to the medicine cabinet and to toss the tissue away, the fourteen year old tensed at the words. Dick turned, eyebrows furrowed with a tiny pout on his lips.

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Bruce. I'm pretty sure I'll do fine being here alone. I've got Alfred after all," he leaned back onto the counter, eyes trained on the back of his guardian's head.

He didn't need to see a face to recognize the smile that was probably stretching up to those high and mighty cheekbones.

"It's that 'pretty sure' that has you coming with me."

Bruce pulled out a box of adhesive bandages and popped the lid open, unwrapping a rectangular bandage and gently easing out the creases as he covered the gash on his ward's forehead with it. It was the softness in something as simple as this that kept Dick from complaining any further and led him to bob his head in a curt nod.

"I'm not going to enjoy it though," he stubbornly smirked, combing his hair down over the bandage and checking the mirror to make sure that it couldn't be seen.

When he had turned his head to check his reflection, Bruce reached over and tousled his hair briefly. It was enough to leave the strands out of place and a small grin over the acrobat's lips, his eyes following the suited man out into the main entryway.

"I'll go start the car. Come out when you're done preening."

They both had to swallow grins.

* * *

"Would it _kill _you to put your phone down, for just a second?" Bruce held the door to make sure a second head wound wouldn't be made when or if his ward smacked his head on the door.

Dick smiled down at the screen of the phone held delicately in his nimble fingers and returned the favor, holding the next door with his foot for the head of Wayne Tech.

"As much as it'd kill you to tone down the cheekbones," he sent his reply and pocketed his phone with a growing smirk at the look that crossed his guardian's face, eventually leading the man's hand to touch defensively to his cheekbones.

The fourteen year old held a giggle to his lips at it, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket and sobering up when he noticed the man at the front desk's stare.

"Mister Wayne," the man greeted Bruce with a smile, eyes flitting over to the boy walking beside him, "Will Dick be joining you today?"

The ebony tensed when an arm was put around him, but he relaxed just a little into it and managed a small smile to assure the man that he wasn't being kidnapped or anything. Standard procedures; he was used to them. They just always managed to slip his mind when he actually had to use them.

"Yes; the doctor said he has a concussion and after the Rixon incident, I don't want to leave him home alone."

There was a nod of understanding and then the civilianized Dynamic Duo were let through the still locked gates of Wayne Tech's many passage and hallways. Bruce had dropped his hand by now and it stayed dropped, a mutual silence hovering between them until they were out of sight.

* * *

Dick averted his eyes as Bruce punched in the key code to the lock on his door even though he had the numbers memorized, looking up again once the door clicked open.

"Think you can handle staying in here for a few hours? I have a conference downstairs at nine with the heads of the San Francisco franchise," there was a slight apology in the older of the two's voice as the door was held and they both walked in.

The acrobat rolled his eyes sarcastically with a small grin, unfastening his binder strap from over his shoulder and resting it up against the side of the armchair barely a few feet from the doorway. He threw himself into the chair gently, sighing in ecstasy as the cushioning swallowed him up.

"I think I can manage," the ebony tilted his head back and let the nape of his neck rest on the back of the chair, fingers tracing out the arms, "but I might get bored later. How about letting me propose a few ideas to your buddies downstairs about some rocket boots?"

His head lolled to the side and he cracked open one of his eyes with a cheesy grin, laughing as Bruce set a hand to his head and chuckled softly.

"You wish," the man walked over to his computer and started it up with a quick scan of his finger and a roll of his eyes, "If they didn't like your jetpack idea, who's to say 'rocket boots' will get more support?"

That had Dick excitedly on his feet, teetering on the toes of his Converse at even the slight suggestion that he could convince someone to make him some flying boots.

"Rocket boots and jetpacks are two totally different things, Bruce. Don't be lame," he walked over to the computer desk and rested his arms on the shelf that protected the computer from the top, relying solely on his toes to stay up, "Rocket boots are just on your feet, and if something goes wrong, you'd only be down limbs instead of dead."

The billionaire tried to swallow a grin with little success.

"Ah, yes, because losing limbs is _so _much better than dying," he shook his head, fingers waltzing fast across the keys, "No, I don't think that'll blow over well in the conference room."

The acrobat fell flat and groaned distastefully, letting his head fall back and pouting up at the ceiling.

"You're no fun," he walked back to the chair and collapsed in it, arms folding across his chest and a pout staying on his lips.

Bruce caught sight even with the desk in his way and he stood up a little straighter, shooting his ward a stern glance to try and help discourage him.

"Stark Industry made rocket boots," Dick grumbled.

His guardian grinned at the childish tone, looking back to the document on his computer screen and storing a few phrases in his memory to use at his own conference in twenty minutes.

"Yes, but Stark Industry isn't real. You can't use comic book references to make a good argument," he chided, already expecting a retort to it before he had even finished.

It took maybe a second.

"You're just jealous that Tony has a hot wife."

The small chuckle had Dick smiling proudly down onto the binder he had hauled up into his lap.

"That's it, you've caught me," Bruce held his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm jealous of a fictional character. Drat, I'm being outsmarted by my protégé."

He rolled his eyes with a grin and shut down his computer, heading for the door with a glance to the clock.

"Bruce?"

At his name, the billionaire paused and glanced over to his ward with a worried accent glazing over his features.

"Everything alright?" his dark eyes immediately flew to where he knew the bandage was beneath the boy's hair, one fist defensively tightening.

Dick took a baited breath, as if he was self-conscious under the scrutinizing look before he nodded and leaned back as if to say 'never mind'.

"Headache," he frowned lightly, toying with the zipper on his binder, "but it can wait a few hours. Good luck down there."

Bruce didn't move, probing a sigh from the younger ebony's lips.

"No, really, I'm fine. I've dealt with worse," the fourteen year old assured the man, waving it off with his hand like the problem was just a pesky bug. "Be sure to bring up my rocket boot idea though. I'd like to be flying by next Tuesday."

The billionaire shook his head incredulously and laughed to himself.

"You got it, rocket boots. What color would you like those in again?"

"Black with blue highlights would be _fantastic_."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be back in time for lunch."

"Bye, Bruce."

"Bye, Dick."

* * *

**You have no idea how long I've wanted to write a civvie Dick and Bruce fic. It might be a little sloppy, but I just needed **_**something **_**to sate this… desire. **

**-F.J. III**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is dedicated to purplepiano4 who actually sent me the idea for it. I can only hope that it lives up to the set expectations. It might be a little out-of-character, but I'm going to try my hardest to stuff it all into proportion.**

* * *

"No, no, believe me, Mr. Pryor. That's the last idea I want you to get. Wayne Tech supports you completely in your… overall mission, per se. There are just a few… _minor _details in the contract that we'd like to negotiate down," Bruce sat broad shouldered in the leather chair, holding eye contact with the camera on the monitor that had he and the head of a potential San Francisco branch of Wayne Tech in conference.

The greasy haired blonde slick almost seemed to sneer at the head executive through the screen, a simple move that made the ebony's blood _boil_, but he calmed it with a discrete slow breath and held still. As much as he'd like to hop on a private jet now and fly down just to slap this man for daring to speak to him like that, he knew he had a professional reputation to uphold.

"Oh, I believe you, Mr. Wayne. I also believe you're being a bit… foolish in turning down my offer. My branch is one of the largest in the country, second to your own. I could _triple _your current business and Wayne Tech could slowly grow to be nationwide. What more is there to negotiate when I give you an offer that promising?"

The man couldn't have been much older than thirty, probably even younger than that with how easily he let a cocky accent glint over his bronze features in his gentle recline. His fingers interlaced behind his blonde locks and he flashed a plastic smile to the billionaire through the screen, balling hidden hands into painful sorts of fists.

"Though Wayne Tech's expansion is a big goal for the company, the welfare of my taskforce will always rank higher than the income we draw in. I'm running a company, not a plantation," Bruce folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed just in the _slightest_.

It was all he could do to keep from ending the call there. This meeting was relatively important, he had to admit, but he wouldn't work with men who deserved his ward's name more than the poor boy upstairs did. He wouldn't work with _anyone _like that, for that matter. That's why he was a hero, after all. Maybe he wasn't in Kevlar or spandex right now, but he could feel a right and proper Bat Glare coming on.

"Are you implying that I treat my workers like slaves?" came the snarl from the other end, "Who are you to accuse that?!"

Well calloused fingers pulled taut on the fabric of the jacket sleeves that tried to contain the ebony's frustration, the slightest flicker of an ironic smile passing over the clean-shaven cheeks.

"I'm Bruce Wayne, the head of Wayne Tech and heir to Thomas Wayne, the founder of the company. Who are _you _to backtalk me?" he calmly released his breath with the firm words, a bit of confidence bubbling back up at the panicked look to cross the man's face and leave him flustered.

"Ah, yes, well- um… I uh, right away, Mr. Wayne. I'll try to fix that," Mr. Pryor bowed his head, shame written harsh into his expression as he studied the surface beneath his heated gaze.

Bruce calmly returned his hands to the desk's top and interlaced his fingers boldly, the ghost of a smirk outlining his lips.

"You'll do more than try. Those men and women are _human beings_, in case you forgot, and they deserve all the rights that you and I both have, especially in their place of work. You work out those kinks and send me the revised copy tonight, alright?"

He leaned forward a bit and looked just a bit over his eyebrows, a look he often gave Dick when he was scolding him for leaving his clothes on the floor. There wasn't a greater feeling in the world than pulling rank, especially to someone with this sort of attitude.

"Yes sir, Mr. Wayne, sir," the sheepish reply was stuttered out.

The ebony relaxed in his seat, holding his smirk now without even a drop of hesitation. It lasted for a while, a comforting sort of tone accenting the air until he felt like he was in a throne of sorts, up until the door to the conference room clicked open and a quiet throat clearing drew his attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?" it was a new intern from the mess to his tuxedo and the nervous fluster to his voice, "You're needed in conference room 2B."

Bruce made a discrete gesture to indicate he was sort of in the middle of something before turning his head and narrowing his eyes a bit, as if saying there had better be a good reason to the intrusion.

"It's your ward, sir. It seems, ah, well, you better come see this," the quirky teen rubbed anxiously at his neck, fidgeting in his place.

The words alone sent a chill down the billionaire's spine and his fingers trembled just a bit, every worst case scenario running through his mind at a million miles an hour. Dick had been complaining of a headache before, maybe he was hurt? He might've staggered down the hallways and gone into the first conference room he could find to try and find him. His ward could be off somewhere, unconscious and throbbing in agony. He couldn't rush to his feet fast enough.

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Pryor. I have some business to attend. We'll talk later," Bruce cut the call after a brief nod and then was following the intern in a near dash down the hall, spotting the certain conference room door ajar.

If his heart hadn't been running rampant enough, it was going a million miles at this moment and he shoved past the poor kid, wrenching the door open. Lucky to say, what he saw inside definitely wasn't what he had mapped out in his head.

Dick was standing on the edge of the conference table in a knee high pair of rain boots that he had gotten from God knows where, a throw tied loosely around his neck like a cape and hands set to his hips in a cocky sort of stance.

"I'm telling you, ladies and gents! Rocket boots! That's the only way to go from here!" Bruce caught as he walked in, standing with his lips agape in the doorframe.

The fourteen year old turned his head and caught sight of his guardian, grinning ear-to-ear and raising his head in a proud sort of nod.

"About time you finished up, you old codger! Come on, help me talk some sense into these guys! Not for public sale, but maybe for the army! Quick escape, double tap and you're up, up and away!" the ebony threw his hands up dramatically in a sporadic burst of energy, a giggle tracing out his lips.

Bruce bowed his head into his hand and tried not to smile, swallowing a laugh but his chest still shaking as if he actually was laughing. This was better than him being hurt, when it came down to everything.

"Seeing that he isn't going to help me…" Dick sighed and ran dramatically along the conference table, using his acrobatic skill to gracefully leap over and land a jump past three sets of lamps and worksheets, earning curious grins of the Wayne Tech members. "You guys perfected a rocket car, bullet proof material and guns that shoot grappling hooks! All that stuff—previously impossible! How different are rocket boots from rocket cars?"

A woman, maybe late thirties, raised a shy hand and a generous rain boot gestured her way.

"There's a lot of difference actually, Mr. Grayson. One is a car, the design of which has been… perfected and modified throughout the ages… while the other is a shoe that has had no previous electrical modifications if you don't include light up shoes or shoes that make noise," she calmly managed out with a smile that said she had three kids back home waiting for her.

Dick dropped into a crouch and held out a hand to her with a grin harsh on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes.

"I include light-up shoes and the shoes that make noise because, like rocket boots, those are cool," he straightened up and jumped back to his footing at the head of the table. "Now, I don't mean like strapping fireworks to some Nikes and calling it a day. I say, we run some metal together over an inner electrical circuit, do some fusing and some test-runs and then send the final product to Batman and the rest of the Justice League. Where's that spirit?"

Those listening chuckled softly into their hands, trying to remain calm in front of their boss, but even Bruce had a grin over his lips as he walked over and scooped his ward from the table. The little ebony squirmed and kicked the whole lift to the floor.

"The world isn't quite ready for rocket boots yet," he tousled Dick's hair just to annoy him and took a step back to avoid the teasing punch, "but I'll see if I can sketch up some plans for a later project."

The words swelled the ex-acrobat's chest with a special kind of pride.

"Now, back upstairs or I can call the school and get you some more homework to do," Bruce patted the pale shoulder and sent the fourteen year old jogging down the hall with a faint giggle following him like a shadow.

* * *

**-F.J. III**


End file.
